


Third Time's the Charm

by detectivejigsaw



Series: Twangst Stories [33]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Amnesia Stan, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crying, Fluff and Angst, Ford Pines Needs a Hug, Gen, Guilty Ford Pines, Platonic Cuddling, Please don't tag as Stancest, Post-Weirdmageddon, Stangst, Unashamed Schmaltz, Yes Stan is too, and rebuilding shattered relationships, but he's slowly getting better, drabble-ish, moping, so does Stan, thoughts on hugs, touch-starved boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29666118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/pseuds/detectivejigsaw
Summary: The first time Ford hugged Stan in forty years, he didn't respond.The second time, he flinched away.A brief somewhat angsty view of when Stan is still recovering his memories post-Weirdmageddon, and with some guilty!Ford rearing its ugly head.
Relationships: Dipper Pines & Ford Pines, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines & Stan Pines, Ford Pines & Mabel Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Jesus "Soos" Alzamirano Ramirez & Stan Pines, Mabel Pines & Stan Pines, Wendy Corduroy & Stan Pines
Series: Twangst Stories [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1323026
Comments: 28
Kudos: 109





	Third Time's the Charm

The first time Ford hugged Stan in forty years, he didn’t respond.

It was understandable; his mind was completely gone, he had no idea who this stranger with the sad face was, or why he was calling him his hero, or anything about what was happening right now. He’d just sat limply in the clearing and accepted it, until Ford got ahold of himself and straightened up, discreetly wiping his face on his sleeve before suggesting that they switch clothes.

Stan looked more than a little confused, but he obeyed without question-and his wide-eyed, innocent, blind obedience was so  _ wrong _ and  _ not Stan _ that it broke Ford’s heart all over again, and it was all he could do to avoid losing his composure in front of the twins again.

* * *

The second time Ford hugged Stan, he wasn’t allowed to finish the action because Stan flinched away.

He had had a remarkable amount of memory restored over the last day or so by extensive time spent with the scrapbook, not to mention hours of everyone telling him stories, feeding him toffee peanuts and bacon, and playing songs from when he was younger that he would out of the blue associate with incidents from the past. Every time he managed to remember something new, it felt like a miracle.

He seemed most comfortable with the kids and Soos; he’d naturally wrap an arm around them, or affectionately noogie the tops of their heads (especially Dipper), and lean against them while flipping through the scrapbook. Even Wendy got her share of hair ruffling and gentle rib-elbowing.

But not Ford.

Stan had remembered his name by this point, and that he was his twin brother. But he never tried to hug him, or ruffle his hair, or even get close enough to touch him. And maybe it was just Ford’s imagination, but it felt like anytime they were in close proximity, Stan would actually  _ flinch _ to get away from him, watching him with wary eyes.

And Ford hated it, but he hadn’t yet realized how severe it was until IT happened.

They were all in the kitchen together, having lunch; thankfully a lot of people from town had brought them food so they wouldn’t have to cook, and Manly Dan had organized a work crew that were working together to repair the place back to its old self.

And out of the blue Stan looked up at the lightbulb hanging over the table, and gave it a puzzled squint.

“Grunkle Stan? You okay?” Mabel asked, putting a concerned hand on his arm.

“Yeah, I’m okay, pumpkin,” he assured her. “I just...maybe I’m remembering this wrong, but...Stanford, did ya  _ make _ that lightbulb?”

Ford looked up from his sandwich. “Uh-yes, actually! I acquired the right technology in the multiverse-it should last for a thousand years.”

He was about to go on about how its rays also made your skin softer, when Stan’s mouth quirked up to one side in a small, impressed smile.

“Whoa. Neat. Bet it saves a lotta money too.”

It was such a radical one-eighty from the last time he’d learned about the lightbulb (aka sullenly tossing the box of lightbulbs he’d been carrying into the trash and walking out without speaking; Ford still wasn’t too clear on the reasons for his bad temper) that Ford couldn’t help smiling. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, you always were good at makin’ cool stuff,” Stan went on, smiling back more widely. “Like-”

Then, as quickly as it had come, the smile vanished, and his eyes widened. There was a small scrabbling noise, and Ford noticed his brother’s hand had started trembling around his fork. “Like-like the-that thing in the basement.” Stan’s words started to falter. “I-I remember-”

“It’s okay, Stanley, take it easy.” Ford reached an arm out to him-and Stan flinched back so violently he almost fell out of his chair.

The thing about it that  _ really  _ hurt was noticing where Stan’s gaze was directed.

Specifically, his eyes had darted towards Ford’s hand.

It was open, but Ford realized that the suddenness of the gesture must have made him remember it being clenched in a fist headed towards his jaw.

With a rising sick feeling in his gut, he lowered his arm, before abruptly pushing back his chair and marching out of the room without finishing his lunch; he had lost his appetite.

Ford felt like he should be more embarrassed than he was about shutting himself in the upstairs bathroom, hiding away from everyone. But any shame he might have felt was dwarfed in comparison to the shame of realizing that things had deteriorated so deeply between him and Stan that his brother could and did misinterpret an attempt at affection towards him from Ford as an act of violence.

He buried his face in his hand, and slowly sank down to the floor with his back pressed against the door, ignoring the way his various old limbs creaked in protest at being in this position. It didn’t matter.

* * *

It was unclear how long he sat there, before he heard the soft thump of footsteps in the hallway outside, and the rap of tiny knuckles on the door.

“Grunkle Ford, are you in there?”

Ford took a moment to rub his face on his sleeve and clean his glasses, before saying hoarsely, “Yes.”

“Are you okay?” Mabel asked; she sounded worried.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” He made no move to get up.

“I  _ can’t _ not worry-you’re hiding in the bathroom and you didn’t finish your lunch.”

“I am  _ not  _ hiding.”

“Yeah you are.”

“I am-”

_ Ford, stop having a childish argument with your niece. _

“I just need a little privacy, please.” Just in case, he checked the handle to make sure he’d locked it, having learned from Dipper that sometimes Mabel misinterpreted statements like ‘go away’ as ‘come in, Mabel!’

Sure enough, he heard her fumble with the doorknob for a moment, before giving a small sigh.

He hoped that she would leave him to his misery...but instead, after a moment, she said softly, “I know you feel bad about Grunkle Stan.”

Ford froze up, and didn’t respond. But apparently that was answer enough.

“I get it. You were kinda a poophead to him for a long time.”

Not quite the word he would use, but he supposed it fit. Ford couldn’t help smiling a little regardless.

“But it’s not too late to start over, if you wanted to try.”

Without meaning to, Ford whispered, “It’s not about what I want. It’s about what  _ he _ wants.”  _ And he doesn’t want me. _

Mabel made an unhappy noise. “He’s just confused and scared about everything right now, he didn’t know any better!”

“If he did know better, he’d want me near him even less.”

“Not if you show him you’re sorry, and that you care about him now!”

Ford didn’t respond; at last he heard Mabel utter a frustrated huff, before stomping away into the depths of the house.

But despite the misery still coiled in his stomach, he did lean his chin into his hand, and consider her words.

* * *

When he felt up to it again, Ford left the bathroom, and sneaked downstairs, specifically to his private study. There was something he’d kept in the Bill-worship room all these years, and if it was still intact-

To his great relief, the film reel was still there, along with a projector; after a brief test, he was able to confirm that both of them still worked. He gathered them under his arms, and headed back upstairs.

Everyone was out on the front porch, watching the sunset, when Ford found them.

“Stanley?” he called to his brother.

Stan turned his head-and this time he didn’t flinch, but he looked confused. And maybe, if you were looking for it, just a bit worried or sad.

Ford forced himself to smile. “I-I found something that might help with your memories.” He produced the film reel. “It’s-Mom sent it to me years ago. It’s a collection of videos of us when we were children.”

One gray eyebrow rose. “Where the heck were ya keepin’ that?”

“...In another part of the house.” Maybe a textbook example of giving an answer that didn’t reveal all that much, but he didn’t feel like going into detail about Bill right now. “Would-would you like to watch them tonight? They might help stir up some more memories.”

Stan looked up at the roof of the porch thoughtfully, and then shrugged and nodded. “Sure, why not.”

Mabel and Dipper both beamed, and Ford looked down a little sheepishly when Mabel gave him a thumbs up over Stan’s shoulder.

The kids seemed to understand that this was something they needed to do alone, and went up to bed early (though Ford suspected it would not be to sleep, at least not anytime soon), leaving them to set up the projector alone in the living room and turn it on. Then they made themselves comfortable (Stan in his armchair, Ford in a smaller plastic one set up next to it) and watched their younger selves being adorable goobers.

Ford described anything that Stan was confused by or couldn’t quite remember, and sometimes one or both of them would chuckle at something particularly amusing, but otherwise they watched in relative silence.

Ford would have been happy to sit and watch all night, but his treacherous body defied his heart’s desires, and without meaning to, he found himself falling asleep.

He was awakened later in the night by a loud, rumbling noise off to his right.

Ford’s eyes darted in that direction, attempting to discern if it was some kind of predator-and saw Stan snoring next to him. He also realized that at some point his head had dropped onto Stan’s shoulder...and that Stan’s head was resting against his. He hadn’t walked away and left him there, he hadn’t shoved him off; he’d fallen asleep right next to him, completely okay with Ford being this close to him.

Ford felt that tight squeezing sensation return to his throat...but this time it was a happy one. After a second, he tucked his head a little more snugly against Stan’s shoulder, and let his eyes slip shut again.

* * *

Even with this new level of trust reestablished, it was another few days before Ford tried to hug Stan again-after he’d turned the house upside down searching for anything and everything that would help his brother with regaining his memories, and tried to figure out the most effective ways to help him digest all the information. Dipper and Mabel kept giving him concerned looks, and once their friend Wendy asked if he needed to take a nap when she found him collapsed face first in his notes, but he didn’t see what the big deal was. Clearly Stan’s recovery was the important thing right now, and Ford had spent enough time being selfish and not paying attention to his brother’s needs.

Stan was the one who finally put his foot down.

“Ford, you need to take a break.”

“What are you talking about?” Ford asked, standing in the living room with two boxes filled to the brim with photo albums in his arms and seconds away from tripping on another one.

With a roll of his eyes Stan got out of his chair and grabbed one of the boxes, setting it firmly down on the floor before taking the other one and doing the same thing. “You’re runnin’ yourself ragged, you knucklehead. I get you wanna help me, but you’re gonna hurt yourself if you don’t slow down a bit.”

“I’m-”

“If you say you’re fine I’m gonna call BS.” Stan folded his arms, looking so much like himself that Ford had to swallow down the lump in his throat again.

“...I just want to help,” he whispered. “You deserve it, after everything you’ve been through.”

“Yeah, I ain’t saying I don’t  _ appreciate  _ it.” Stan’s eyes softened, and he smiled a tiny bit. “I just...wanna make sure you’re doin’ okay too. That you’re gettin’ your needs met, or whatever.”

And then the selfish thought-no,  _ desire _ -returned with a vengeance. Ford looked down at his boots, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Ah, I know that look. There somethin’ you want?” Stan tilted his head until he was partly in Ford’s line of vision.

“No, I-it’s fine, I don’t-”

“Has anyone told you how much you suck at lying?”

“All the time,” Ford admitted dryly.

“C’mon, spit it out,” Stan insisted. “What can I do for you?”

Ford hesitated; there was no way to say  _ I want to hug you because it’s been forty years since we last hugged and I feel inordinately touch-starved _ without sounding pathetic.

And then Stan once again demonstrated that he was more perceptive than most people realized by asking, “...Would it be easier if ya showed me, or something?”

Ford dipped his chin an inch; he raised his head, hesitated another moment...then slowly began to lift his arms.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said when he thought he saw Stan’s shoulders tightening-it might have been just his imagination, for all he knew, but it seemed safer to drop that disclaimer regardless.

And then Ford wrapped his arms around Stan, cupping the back of his neck with one hand while tugging him in against his shoulder.

He felt Stan’s chest hitch with a small gasp of surprise, and for one moment he was as horribly still and unresponsive as in the clearing-but then he was clutching at the back of Ford’s coat, and relaxing into his arms, and, despite all the changes over the years, with different layers of muscle and fat distributed in different ways...it was a perfect fit.

Ford leaned his chin on Stan’s shoulder, and tried to make his mouth stop trembling, even as he basked in the sensation of being  held by his brother like this and he hadn’t realized how much he’d  _ missed  _ it until it seemed like the opportunity was gone forever-

“Ssh…” Stan started patting his back. “It’s okay, Sixer. I’m right here. I gotcha.”

* * *

They ended up falling asleep on the sofa in Soos’s break room, still curled around each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully this was as good as I hoped it would be.


End file.
